


No Good Men

by HeartOfStars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Lives, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Setting, Anakin Skywalker Is The Winter Soldier, BAMF Padmé Amidala, Character Death, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Obi-Wan Kenobi Is Captain America, Smoking, Sort Of, hey come on it's the 1950s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfStars/pseuds/HeartOfStars
Summary: Thanks to generals Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, one of the most dangerous regiments of the Nazis were defeated...but at great cost. Six years later, Obi-Wan is still reeling from Anakin's death and determined to live peacefully when his old life comes knocking at the door. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan returns to the fight, but there's one little problem: Anakin Skywalker survived, and has been brainwashed by the Soviet Union to be an assassin.AKA: The Star Wars Winter Soldier AU...with a twist.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala & Sabé, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 43





	1. Spring 1951

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassiaBaneberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassiaBaneberry/gifts).



> I can't believe this is happening. I have *so many* other WIPs I need to finish...but the People cried for a Star Wars Prequels Winter Soldier AU, and I have answered that cry. (Maybe not in exactly the way they hoped. We'll see.) But in any case, this will be a LONG fic, so buckle up and settle in for a hell of a ride. 
> 
> Also, many many thanks to my beta, the amazing SpellCleaver!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is happening. I have *so many* other WIPs I need to finish...but the People cried for a Star Wars Prequels Winter Soldier AU, and I have answered that cry. (Maybe not in exactly the way they hoped. We'll see.) But in any case, this will be a LONG fic, so buckle up and settle in for a hell of a ride. 
> 
> Also, many many thanks to my beta, the amazing SpellCleaver!

D.C. was beautiful this time of year. 

It was the twenty-fourth of April, and summer was on its way. The last of the snow had melted almost a month ago, and that, coupled with the sun shining down over the nation’s capital, had brought people out in droves. Kids were walking down the street, laughing and talking; cars rolled slowly down the streets, Cadillacs and Pontiacs mostly, with a few Buick Rivieras mixed in. And in the distance, the White House was like a beacon of light. 

Such a beautiful city. A beautiful place. A perfect day.

Amidst all the people stood one lone figure, one man dressed all in black. Or perhaps he wasn’t a man. Most of his face was hidden from view. But for all intents and purposes, he was a man. 

He was standing in an alley; simply standing. Doing nothing. Watching. 

Or maybe he wasn’t watching; there was no way to know. 

In any case, no one had noticed him. 

That was the point. 

Several minutes passed. The man did nothing. He just watched. Then, removing something from his pocket, he walked forward, out of the alley and onto the streets of Washington, D.C. 

A band played in the distance. It was the beginning of the summer festivals. A group of children, laughing among themselves, ran toward it. 

Except one--a boy, perhaps around six or seven years old. He hung back, watching the man. Tilted his head. Then he ran toward the man, curiosity shining in his eyes. 

“Hi,” he said, waving up at him. 

The man looked down at the boy. The faceless mask regarded him. 

Then he held out the object in his hand. It was small, round; the size of a toy.

The boy looked up at him with glee. “That for me?” 

The man did not respond in words, or even the nod of a head. He simply held out his hand further. An invitation. 

Laughing, the boy took the object and ran toward his friends. 

The man watched him, waiting. Then he turned and walked back into the alley. 

Behind him, there was more laughter, giggling, from the children, as they tinkered with the toy the nice man had given them. Curiosity, from the people around him. 

“Happy birthday, happy birthday!” one of the children shouted. 

There was more laughter. 

And then there was an explosion. 

The man didn’t look back--not even when screams echoed throughout the streets, when mothers cried out, when fires began to rage behind him. He just kept walking. 

Soon he had vanished altogether. 

  
  


The bars on the East Side of New York were some of the best in the city, thought Obi-Wan Kenobi. Good drinks, better employees, and best of all, no unsavory customers. 

“I’ll have one Manhattan, thank you,” he told the bartender. “Not too many bitters, if you please, they leave a disappointing taste.” 

The bartender smiled. “What’s a Brit doing this side of the Atlantic?”

“Oh, I was a foreign exchange officer back in 1941.” Obi-Wan returned the smile. “I happened to meet some fellows that I liked, and I never went back.” 

The bartender began stirring up Obi-Wan’s drink, talking over his shoulder as he worked; most of them did. It was how they kept business. “Meet any ladies that you liked?”

Obi-Wan struggled to keep his smile. That was only one bad memory, after all; thinking about it too much would bring up the others. 

“Yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, it didn’t work out between us.” 

The bartender tsk-ed. “Ah, that’s too bad.” He turned around. “One Manhattan for you, sir.” 

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan sipped at it; the whisky overwhelmed his senses. “Ah! Brilliant. Almost as good as they are in London,” he added mischievously. 

The bartender chuckled. “That’s a good one, sir, that’s a good one. You Londoners have a sparkling wit, you do.”

With a last smile, he went off to serve his other customers. 

Obi-Wan looked across the bar. No one he recognized here, even with all the military uniforms; but then, he hadn’t been stationed anywhere near New York. He’d been in D.C., along with a number of other...distinguished characters.

He couldn’t have spoken to these men anyway. They hadn’t lost the things he had, not by a long shot; they still had a woman on their arm. They still wore smiles. 

Although, he had to admit to himself, maybe they were pretending too. 

They all had trauma; they’d all gone through their own tragedies. But the real tragedy was not what had happened. 

The real tragedy was that they had to pretend it hadn’t. 

A finger tapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder, and he spun around, already beginning to be caught up in his memories. 

It was one of the hostesses. She smiled at him. 

“Yes?” Obi-Wan made sure to appear closed off. He hoped this wasn’t one of the women looking for a one-night stand; she wouldn’t find it here. 

“Telephone for you,” she said, looking slightly disappointed. “Back room.” 

“Very well.” Obi-Wan set down his drink and headed toward the back, nodding at some of the men seated along the way. The phone booth was literally at the back of the bar, past all the other tables, the smoking room, and the restrooms. He wondered who could be calling him at this hour; nothing had happened since the war. He hadn’t been needed for much of anything since the war, besides the one mission in Odessa; and that had been merely as a diplomat. What had come up? 

He turned into the last room, and then a very familiar face met him. 

“Ahsoka Tano,” he said slowly,freezing for a moment. Then he swept her up in a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?” 

Ahsoka had been a pretty child during the war; she was a beautiful woman now, but Obi-Wan had always known that her best asset was by no means her appearance. Having descended from a Navajo family, she had grown up bilingual; in 1943, she had become the first--and only--female code talker, and had saved Obi-Wan’s squadron from doom many times over. 

She also seemed to have embraced her heritage; there were small red tattoos on either side of her face. 

“I’ve been better,” she said, “but I’m all right.” She smirked. “Are you sure you’re only thirty-five? You’re getting grayer by the day.” 

“Very funny,” Obi-Wan remarked dryly. “You know, once upon a time, it was said that the Navajo taught their children to respect their elders. But clearly, that practice is no longer popular.” 

“Clearly,” Ahsoka said with a grin. “Now, do you want my news or not?”

“Of course I do.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it.” 

“We’re going to D.C.,” she said. 

Obi-Wan shook his head with a laugh. “No, we’re not. I’ve told you before, Ahsoka, I am not getting involved with anything again. After the war, I told everyone that I would be living the life of a normal man, and I meant it. Now--”

“Padmé has made contact,” Ahsoka said, cutting him off. 

That was simultaneously better--and worse--than anything Obi-Wan had heard in the last six years. He did a double take. “Padmé? _Padmé._ I thought I would never see her again!” 

“So did I,” Ahsoka said, “but she’s learned things in her time away...many things. She has valuable information about what the Soviets have been doing. She wants to meet with us.” 

“And I want to meet with her,” Obi-Wan said. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“We will, but--” Ahsoka’s smile had faded. “But I’m going to warn you, Obi-Wan...she’s nowhere near the same person that she was six years ago.” 

Well. He had expected that. 

“I wouldn’t imagine so,” he said carefully. “But how has she changed, exactly?”

“Better to ask her in person,” Ahsoka said. “I don’t even know the half of it.” She led him toward the door. “Come on. There’s a helicopter waiting for us, and it’s cleared to leave in twenty minutes.” 

Obi-Wan followed her, feeling less and less certain about this by the moment. He had sworn off every memory of his old life, of what had happened; now he supposed he would have to relive it. If Padmé Naberrie wanted to speak with him, after almost six years of radio silence, then she would speak with him, any trauma be damned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this work can be found here: https://shorelle.tumblr.com/tagged/star+wars+winter+soldier+AU
> 
> Also, the title for the fic comes from a fantastic book, Vicious, by V.E. Schwab, which you should definitely all drop everything and read: "There are no good men in this game."


	2. Seven Years Ago - Fort Yularen

Obi-Wan dropped the report on his desk and rubbed his hands over his face. 

“Six dozen,” he said slowly. “We lost nearly _six dozen_ aircraft?” He looked up at Anakin. “How is that possible?”

“Look, it wasn’t _me,_ ” Anakin said belligerently. “It was General Arnholdt, he showed up at the last minute; he knew exactly where we were. We were forced to return to the _Twilight,_ but by then we’d already lost half our fleet as well as more than half of Windu’s.” He shook his head. “We barely made it back here alive.” 

“He won’t be joining you next time,” Obi-Wan mused. “He’ll need to recover.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “You really think he won’t be joining us?”

“Well, he _should_ let his fleet recover.” 

“You think Windu does anything based on the idea that he _should_ do it?” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help laughing softly. Anakin did that to him; even in the midst of this struggle, even after losing hundreds of lives, he could laugh. As long as he was with Anakin. 

“Fair enough,” he said, getting up. “I’ll go and convince him.” 

“Really?” Anakin frowned at him. “That’s what you’re going to do?”

It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize what Anakin was talking about. Then he groaned, shaking his head. 

“Anakin, I am _not_ going with you in Windu’s stead to attack Arnholdt,” he said. 

Anakin crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. “All right. Tell me why. Come on. Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because, first of all, it’s against orders. I was told to stay.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Okay, sure. But you received those orders _before_ this great defeat.” 

Obi-Wan glared at him. “Do you want to hear my next point of reason, or not?”

Anakin ran a finger over his lips, the universal sign for _I’m quiet._

“Second of all,” Obi-Wan continued, “it is absolute foolishness to _attack_ Arnholdt.” 

Anakin groaned. “I knew you’d say that.” 

“Well, it’s true! He’s constantly on the move; how do we know where to find him? If we even find him, how will we go about an attack after such a catastrophic defeat?”

“Oh, there have been worse defeats.”

“Really? Really. You and Windu together lost around five thousand men. Each. In one _single battle,_ Anakin--”

“I really doubt that’s the worst. And don’t suggest I’m not taking this--”

“I know you’re taking it seriously. That’s why I’m fighting you on this. When you want to get something done, you go for the most drastic measure possible, but in this case, we must be more careful about--”

“No.” Anakin stood up straight and uncrossed his arms. There was fire in his eyes. “We’ve done enough of that. Running, hiding--that’s your way of doing things, Obi-Wan, and we’ve stuck to it long enough. We’ve lost lives, we’ve lost men, we’ve become _cowards._ No more. It’s time to go hard. The war’s almost over anyway; and this stuck-up bastard is determined to drag it out on his end, to take as many lives as he can before he’s forced to surrender.” He slammed his fist down on Obi-Wan’s desk. “No more.” 

Anakin _was_ serious, Obi-Wan realized. He really was serious, and he would do whatever it took to end the war. 

That had always been there; that wasn’t a surprise. 

What was a surprise was how fiercely--how _violently,_ in some cases, that desire to do something was manifesting itself. 

Obi-Wan had met Anakin Skywalker for the first time in the fall of 1941. The war in Britain was already underway, had devastated the nation and the whole of Europe. He had already been through heavy fighting, had witnessed lives lost, had seen countless men die before his eyes. He’d never been more relieved than the day he’d received an assignment to travel to Washington, D.C. and try to convince some of the military generals to back the idea of America joining the war. He was skilled as a diplomat, after all; he’d played both roles well throughout his short career. 

Naturally, none of the generals had been at all inclined to join the war. The only one who’d given it any kind of thought was Windu himself...and in the end, he, too, had backed out. They had great sympathy for Britain, but they had to keep their own interests first; they’d recently emerged from the Great Depression, after all. 

But unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his diplomatic skills were known to the Nazis as well; and one had followed him to America, in the hopes of assassinating him. He’d taken just a few steps out of the briefing room before he heard the gunshot; and then, before he could do anything, someone had jumped on top of him, knocking him to the floor as the bullet zinged harmlessly into a chandelier. 

The assassin had been quickly surrounded by the police, and taken away. 

But the man who had saved him, obviously, had been Anakin himself, only nineteen but already a Captain. Naturally, he and Obi-Wan had bonded over that, which had convinced Obi-Wan to stay just a little longer in America. 

Then Pearl Harbor had happened. That had convinced Obi-Wan to stay even longer. 

Now, three years later, he and Anakin had been through everything together: assassination attempts, several romantic affairs, battles lost and battles won, near death experiences. Nothing had ever attempted to tear them apart. There had been Anakin’s brief capture and imprisonment by the Nazis eight months prior, but Obi-Wan had pulled together a team and rescued him quickly. And now the war was on its way to the finish line. 

But recently, something had been different about Anakin. Maybe it was the way he held himself. Maybe it was the way he seemed to constantly be on the verge of exploding. Maybe it was none of those things; maybe it was something else. But there hadn’t been any cracks in him, before; he had been powerful and bright and whole, a force to be reckoned with. 

He was still a force to be reckoned with, but now he was just powerful and serious and simmering with anger. 

Now there was a crack in the perfect glass. 

“All right,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “All right. I understand what you’re saying. But let’s go back to the beginning. How will we find Arnholdt if he’s constantly disappearing?”

“That’s the thing,” Anakin said with a grin; and just like that, the crack was gone. “We won’t find him. He’ll find us.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. 

“Dear Lord in heaven,” he said. 

  
  


“So, let me make this clear,” Obi-Wan said, two days later, over dinner. 

Anakin let out a groan before he’d even finished. “Really? The plan is set. I’ve already explained it to you, I’ve briefed the squadrons, Windu’s staying--”

“I don’t care how many times you’ve explained it, I have several questions.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Go ahead.” 

“So, you say we’re going to be at a military station near _Mount Tambora._ ” Obi-Wan threw up his hands. “Why the devil did you choose Mount Tambora?” 

“Well, Mount Tambora is in the Dutch East Indies,” Anakin explained patiently, as if talking to a child. 

“Yes. We all know that.”

“The Dutch East Indies have been occupied by the Japanese since 1942.” 

Obi-Wan rested his chin on his hand. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me next that two times two is four and the earth orbits the sun.” 

Anakin sighed. “I’ve explained all these things to you, Obi-Wan. You want me to explain them again. How do you expect me to--”

“I understand, I understand, he is coming after us,” Obi-Wan sighed. “We are going there, and he will come after us. But why should he believe for a second that we’re going to the East Indies? No one from our side of the war has dared go _there._ ”

“Because, at that military station is a weapons factory,” Anakin explained. 

“You didn’t tell me this.” Obi-Wan groaned into his hands. “Don’t you see? This is the problem. I had no idea about this. I expect you learned from Ahsoka. Don’t tell me, I already know it, she’s brilliant. But I need to know things, Anakin!” 

“All right,” Anakin said, and this time he was the defensive one. “Look, I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I meant to tell you, it’s just that you were busy helping to organize a treaty--”

“Yes, I know.” Damn the man--Obi-Wan couldn’t stay angry at him for long. He smiled. “And you’re doing wonderfully. Really. You’ve got a great head for this sort of thing.”

“Well, I learned it from you,” Anakin said. 

Now he was just saying that. Obi-Wan hit him lightly. 

“I most certainly did _not_ teach you how to skirt a direct order,” he said dryly. 

“Oh, of course not. That was all me. What I’m talking about is your strategy. You’ve got a brain, Obi-Wan, and there was a time when I thought we’d win by attacking the Nazis head on.” Anakin grinned. “You taught me differently.” 

“And now you do it better than I do.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I really wish I wasn’t so good at this. I think they want to demote me to Secretary of Defense.” 

“That would be promoting you, and you know it.” 

“Fair enough.” Obi-Wan took a drink. 

So did Anakin--and he promptly choked. 

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, concerned. 

“It’s Padmé,” Anakin said, getting up quickly. “She’s--I promised to meet her!” 

“Ah, the ever mysterious Padmé, with whom I have barely spoken,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “There’s been nothing illicit going on between the two of you, has there?”

“Of course not,” Anakin said lightly. “Why the hell should there be?”

Then, whistling between his teeth, he turned and danced off down the hall. 


	3. 1951 - En Route To Washington, D.C.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Ahsoka catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, the amazing SpellCleaver!

As the helicopter cut through the dark sky, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka sat in the passengers’ compartment and talked. 

“So, the quiet life for Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Ahsoka said with a smirk. “And how has that been working out for you?” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Better than you might think. About five months after the end of the war I was offered a job in cryptography; it paid well enough. But then I began to get too involved in what the Soviets were doing, and I wanted no part of that.”

“Of course not,” Ahsoka said. “But who was willing to take you?” 

“Oh, lots of people.” There was still a full ride ahead of them, so Obi-Wan drew out his pipe and lit it. He breathed in the smoke, his shoulders relaxing, and carried on. “So for the last four years, I’ve been a statistician for a company on the Upper East Side.” 

“Statistician?” Ahsoka was lounged back, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re being wasted, Obi-Wan.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, rather defensively. “I get paid two dollars an hour. That is far from terrible. In fact, it’s better than many veterans can boast--”

In response, Ahsoka laughed. 

“Excuses, excuses,” she said. “You know what I think, Obi-Wan?” 

He sighed, mentally preparing himself for another insult to his pacifism. “What do you think?” 

“I think you’re doing all this as a defense mechanism,” she said, and that was not what he had expected at all. “You want to help. How could you not? You were born to help people, born and bred to be on the front lines. Sure, all you want is peace; but there isn’t peace right now, is there? Far from it. The Germans are basically dead, but the Soviets are giving us trouble, and the Koreans...you _want_ to help. But you know what happened last time, and you’re worried someone else is going to die.” She smirked. “You’re afraid.”

Obi-Wan stared at her. How dare she even suggest--

Ahsoka’s grin widened. “Oh, I knew it.” 

“You really think,” he started, breathing in another puff of smoke, “you think I’m _afraid?_ Ahsoka, I truly, _truly_ only want to rest. I know that the situation with the Soviets is worsening, but it is nowhere near the _terror_ of 1938! If it grows that bad, I would not be opposed to joining in, but for now--”

“Ohhhh.” Ahsoka let out a long whistle. “So...you’re saying there’s a chance, are you? I--”

“No,” Obi-Wan tried to cut her off, “no. No, that is not what--”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Ahsoka went on cheerfully, as Obi-Wan reached for his canteen of water. “Imagine what the folks in D.C. will say when they hear this! The great Kenobi has agreed to fight again! They’ll give him an assortment of rifles, he’ll bring out the old shield--the women will love you!” Obi-Wan began, ever so slowly, to twist the lid off of the canteen. “Oh, you’ll be a ladies’ man again, won’t you? And then you’ll be decked out in medals, you win battles--” She raised her arms dramatically. “You shall bring hope back to the American people once again!” 

Calmly, Obi-Wan lifted the open canteen and tipped it upside down. 

Ahsoka shrieked as the water spilled down over her shaved head, spilling into her mouth and nose. 

Obi-Wan grinned. 

_"Yaádila tł'a'iiyahii_ ," she growled, wiping her face. “What did you do that for?”

“Because it’s fun,” Obi-Wan said, then leaned closer. “And because _you_ are being _so annoying.”_

Ahsoka sighed. “I guess I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“Of course you did.” Obi-Wan smiled gently. “It’s all in good fun, isn’t it?” 

“ _Shideezhi_ Tano,” said the pilot, and Obi-Wan realized that he was also Navajo. “We’ll be landing in about five minutes.” 

“Thanks,” Ahsoka called. She grinned at Obi-Wan. “Ready to see D.C.?”

“I’m ready to see an old friend,” Obi-Wan said wryly. “I am not ready to see the nation’s capital.” 

Ahsoka sighed. “Like I said. She’s excited to see you, too, but…”

“She’s not the same as she once was,” Obi-Wan finished, shaking his head. “I suppose I have an idea what happened to her; but I don’t want to think about it. We all went through a lot...but I think she went through the most.” 

“Padmé was tenacious, that’s for sure. She always had a fighter’s spirit.” Ahsoka looked out toward the beautiful city; the White House could just be seen in the distance. “But she tried to fight and be kind to people at the same time. That just isn’t possible anymore.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. “You think?” 

Ahsoka sighed. “For a woman.” 

“Ah.” He extinguished his pipe. “Yes, I understand. I just wish she’d let me help her.” 

“Yeah, well…” Ahsoka shrugged. “She just needed time alone. And, maybe she’s not as carefree anymore, but she’s not...traumatized, the way she was. She’s better.” She patted Obi-Wan’s arm and stood up. “Just don’t expect the Padmé Naberrie you once knew.” 

Obi-Wan smiled grimly. “I won’t. Just as long as she doesn’t expect the Obi-Wan Kenobi that _she_ once knew.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Navajo translations:  
> Yaádila tł'a'iiyahii - you butthead  
> Shideezhi - younger sister


	4. Seven Years Ago - Fort Yularen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the past, Obi-Wan and Anakin have a very important meeting involving several familiar faces.

The next morning, Anakin met him outside the mess hall. 

“Where were you last night?” Obi-Wan joked as they walked. “You left me to search out dance partners for myself.” 

“I told you.” Anakin shot him a lopsided grin. “With my lady love.” He whistled softly to himself; he _was_ in a good mood, and Senator Naberrie was most certainly to blame. “There’s only one woman for me now, Obi-Wan.” 

To think Obi-Wan had believed it was just a fling. He shook his head. 

“So, when are you two going to get married?” he asked with a smile. 

“I keep trying to,” Anakin grumbled. “And I keep failing. She’s...she’s not ready yet.” 

Ah, now _this_ was interesting. A woman, not ready to get married?

“Well, what’s she waiting for?” Obi-Wan demanded. “Do you know how many young couples are getting married these days? The war’s on, they think they haven’t much time.”

“That’s her point. She wants to wait until the war’s over.” 

Obi-Wan had to admit that that made sense. Padmé Naberrie was a politician, the second female senator ever; marrying would distract her from her job. 

Not that he knew much about her to make any kind of judgments. 

“Then, if you’re waiting so long to get married,” he said, “when can I officially meet her?”

Anakin chuckled. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Yes, from a long distance, when she was giving a speech,” Obi-Wan corrected him with a laugh. “I don’t want to see Padmé the enigma, I want to see Padmé the _person._ ”

Anakin gave another one of those crooked grins. “Well, that’ll have to wait. At the moment, she is _very_ busy.” 

The two men turned a corner into a briefing room. It was completely empty; perfect for a quiet discussion. But neither of them sat down. 

“How go the efforts to draw Arnholdt to Mount Tambora?” Obi-Wan asked, approaching the far end of the room. An American flag hung from the wall. “I expect you have Ahsoka working on that.” 

“Ahsoka, and a few others.” Anakin reached behind the wall, touching a button there; the wall slid open several feet. He grinned, extending a hand. “After you.” 

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan edged into the passageway; Anakin followed. It was so narrow that both of them had to turn sideways to walk through, and still Obi-Wan could feel the wall on either side of him. 

“Damn it, it’s tight in here,” Anakin muttered. 

Obi-Wan turned his head to give Anakin a smirk. “You’re always complaining, aren’t you?” 

“You’re also less muscular than I am. It’s harder for me.”

“Oh, really?” As the faint light of the briefing room faded behind them, Obi-Wan reached out his hands to feel along the wall. “That’s because I also spend time training my mind. I don’t recall the last time you did that.” 

“And yet, I came up with this strategy.” The passage was dark enough that Obi-Wan couldn’t _see_ Anakin any longer; he could only feel him, directly to his right. “You’re welcome.” 

Then they had arrived at the other end of the passage; Obi-Wan, in the lead, touched the button on the wall in front of them. A moment later, the wall divided in two; Obi-Wan and Anakin squeezed through, stepping into Mace Windu’s office.

Behind them, the wall slid shut. 

They were not alone. Also in the office were Ahsoka, Obi-Wan’s Commander Cody, and Commander Rex. Technically, they were allowed access to Windu’s office; but several weeks earlier, Adi-Mundi’s had been bugged by Japanese spies. They couldn’t take the chance of someone seeing them enter, so the entire group had all resolved to enter a different way. 

“And there’s the rest of Team Fulcrum,” Ahsoka said cheerfully. 

“Do _not_ use that term again,” said Windu from the shadows. “We are not a _team,_ and we’ve got nothing to do with a Fulcrum. We are an elite force, whose sole purpose is to take down General Arnholdt.” 

There was a long silence. Mace Windu had that effect on people. 

“He’s been saying many cheerful things like that,” Ahsoka said. 

“Like always.” Anakin grinned. “How are you, Snips?”

“I was fine.” Ahsoka grinned back. “Until _you_ showed up, that is.” 

Uh-oh. 

Obi-Wan could see it now: an exchange of witty banter, of insults gradually growing more and more inappropriate, escalating bit by bit until everyone forgot why they were there in the first place. 

“That’s my purpose,” Anakin said gleefully, “to give you a headache. Your hair looks nice, by the way. Did you stay up all night doing it?”

It was a running joke. Since joining the war, Ahsoka had kept her head shaved. 

“Not as long as you spent with that senator,” Ahsoka shot back. 

“Well, at least I have a lover. No wonder you’re so bitter--you’re married to your job.” 

“I could say the same about you,” Ahsoka said coolly. “How late is the wedding delayed again? 1965?” 

All right, that was enough. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, as Anakin opened his mouth. “ _No._ ”

“Kenobi’s right, that’s enough.” Windu stepped forward into the room, wearing all black as usual; the man was the definition of melodramatic. “You might be wondering why I gathered you all here.”

“Yes, it’s killing us,” said Ahsoka, rolling her eyes. 

Windu shot her a glare. “You’d better shut up, because this is about you.” He cleared his throat. “So. The plan is to draw Arnholdt to Mount Tambor. We have withdrawn all our forces; Kenobi will go with Skywalker, instead of me, because apparently I need...to rest.” 

He looked right at Obi-Wan. 

“Oh, I’m taking full blame for that,” Obi-Wan said. “Half of your fleet was demolished. Besides, you like to be the man in the shadows.” 

“I’ll admit that,” Windu muttered before returning his attention to the rest of the group. “So Skywalker and Kenobi are going to Mount Tambor, at full strength; but the key is to get Arnholdt to believe that they are _not_ in the East Indies for the purpose of drawing him there.” He nodded at Ahsoka. “That’s where you come in.” 

Ahsoka put a hand to her chest in pretend shock. 

“Ahsoka,” Anakin warned her. 

She waved him off. “Yes. Well. It took me a few days, but after working with my team of talkers, we found and decrypted a message from someone to Arnholdt.”

“Someone,” Cody said. “And who, exactly, is that _someone?”_

“We couldn’t figure it out. It’s…” She laughed. “Sorry, but the man in the shadows. Whoever’s been giving him orders, and Count Schneider before him.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. “He’s the one we’ve been trying to find all this time. He isn’t in the military; he has some kind of position in the…” He sighed heavily. “In the concentration camps. Experimentation. Torture.” 

Anakin shifted uncomfortably to his left. 

“But he has military knowledge, and has been behind everything. He must have sent the message.” Obi-Wan motioned to Ahsoka. “Please, carry on.” 

“Thank you.” Ahsoka pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “It reads: ‘General Arnholdt, we believe that the Allies intend to draw you toward them. Be careful not to fall into their trap. At present, their trajectory is such that I would expect them to attack at Breslau in Silesia; but be ready for anything. I will see you in Warsaw in three weeks’ time.’” Ahsoka looked up. “That doesn’t give us a lot to work with.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s quite unfortunate. Not only do they know that we plan to draw him into a trap, we only have three weeks to do it. If Arnholdt is going to Warsaw to meet this fellow, nothing will pull him away from it short of...a bombing, or something.” 

“Yeah,” said Anakin, a slow, knowing smile coming over his face. “A bombing.” 

_No,_ thought Obi-Wan, desperately. _Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t--_

Anakin’s eyes slid toward Obi-Wan; blast. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

“No,” Obi-Wan said sharply, “I know what you’re thinking, and I am suggesting you stop it.” 

“Oh, _come on._ ” Anakin stepped forward into the room. “Don’t you see? We don’t have to send him any kind of encryptions, we don’t need to make things more difficult than they are; we need to bring the fight to him. See, Arnholdt’s too scared, he knows what we’re trying to do, but he’s also a general. If we did something, something huge, then--then he’d have no choice but to fight back!”

He was actually starting to make sense. 

“What are you proposing?” Obi-Wan asked slowly. 

“I’m proposing we bomb Breslau, just before he leaves for Warsaw, and then--”

Obi-Wan spun to fully face him. “Are you _mad?_ You not only want to draw him to us, you want to _bomb_ the very place he is _expecting an attack--_ ”

“I didn’t finish,” Anakin snapped. “As I was _saying,_ we’ll do exactly as he’s expecting us to do, we’ll show up in Breslau...but we won’t bomb the whole city.” He grinned. “We’ll only bomb the section of the city that includes the specific weapons factory--” 

“That Arnholdt oversees,” Obi-Wan finished for him, his face going white. “Of course; what an idea! The explosives would have to be small, of course, designed simply to target that sector and nothing more.” 

“Of course,” Anakin went on, beginning to pace the room. “And all his weapons would go up in flames; and _then_ he can’t go to Warsaw--”

“And tell his contact, this man who is commanding him, that he has just lost entire tons of ammunition?” Obi-Wan laughed. “It would be disastrous. He would _have_ to come after us, immediately--it’s a genius idea!” 

“Of course it is. But then, how would he know to follow us?” Anakin began to rub his chin, thoughtful for once. “He wouldn’t just come after us, he wouldn’t fight the moment it happens, he’ll be in shock...but he _will_ come. What then?”

“Here’s an idea,” said Obi-Wan, who had completely forgotten any issues he might have had with Anakin’s thought process. “What if we appeared to hang back, and when he comes, we will flee a little ways; and then a little, and a little...until we have lured him to the weapons factory above Mount Tambora?”

Anakin grinned. “And then we bring the whole thing down on top of him.” 

“Sounds delightful,” Obi-Wan said, returning the grin. 

Following the moment of brainstorming, the room was deadly silent. Obi-Wan realized that everyone was staring at them. 

“Sorry.” Anakin ran a hand through his hair. “Guess I got...carried away there.” 

“I’ll say.” Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest. “You also kind of ruined the plan.” 

“And now,” Obi-Wan said, stepping up next to Anakin, “we have a new plan.” He put his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. “Thanks to my brilliant friend here.” 

Anakin shoved Obi-Wan away, laughing. “Don’t do that to me. That way, if this fails, it’s my fault.” 

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “Exactly.” 

“Watch your mouth, Skywalker,” Rex said with a laugh. “When you say things like that, they get taken seriously.” 

“Yes, they do,” said Windu. Obi-Wan looked at him nervously. He’d been mostly silent this entire time; watching things unfold, as always. But Windu had a will like iron. If they wanted to take down Arnholdt...and the plan changed...he would do something drastic to make sure that it succeeded. 

“Skywalker, I don’t know if that was a joke, or if you were being serious,” he said. “Probably both. But I’m gonna take it seriously...very, _very_ seriously.” He walked up to look Anakin right in the eye. “Are you confident you can pull this off?” 

“Yeah.” Anakin nodded at Obi-Wan. “Well. Obi-Wan and I can--”

“No, you know what I mean.” Windu’s eyes hardened. “Obi-Wan will do what he can. But this was your idea. Are you _confident_ that you can pull it off?”

“Yes.” Anakin’s expression hardened; there were the cracks again, the cracks in the glass. How could there be almost two sides to him, two sides that Obi-Wan could see simultaneously--as if two men existed in the same Anakin? “I am.” 

“Then if you fail…” Windu hesitated, just a moment. “It’s your responsibility.” 

Anakin curled his lip; acceptance of a challenge. “I won’t fail. I’ll succeed, and Arnholdt will die.” 


	5. Washington, D.C. - 1951

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Things Escalate for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my wonderful beta, SpellCleaver. She's amazing!

It was with all the reluctance in the world that Obi-Wan stepped into Washington, D.C. 

He had hoped that the memories would not return immediately, that they would stay safely where they belonged--the past--and that he would be allowed to simply enjoy the bustling city as it was. It  _ was  _ a lovely place to be, a beautiful city despite the memories attached to it... _ because  _ of the memories attached to it. 

But as he stepped out of the helicopter, he remembered instantly that he was standing about a hundred paces from the spot where he and Anakin had played a last game of poker--had set it up right there, just off the landing strip--before taking off on their last mission. Obi-Wan had won; but he was sure Anakin had let him. Anakin had a better poker face, and he always won; but at the end, Obi-Wan was left with the victory. 

_ “That’s not fair,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. “I know you had at least a full house, and I should have folded. You  _ cheated,  _ to  _ let  _ me win, just to prove to me that you’re better than I am.” _

_ “No, I didn’t, I swear.” Anakin raised his hands defensively. “You win. You’ve got the highest hand, honest.” He grinned. “And it looks like you don’t need me to help you with cards any more.”  _

But Obi-Wan  _ had  _ needed him; for cards, and for everything else. He had needed Anakin every night since then, every day, in every decision he made. He had needed him then, and he needed him now. More than anything. 

“Obi-Wan?” At the sound of Ahsoka’s voice, Obi-Wan returned to himself; this was the future. Anakin was dead, and he was here to see a friend who was not. “Doing all right?”

Obi-Wan forced a smile. “Of course.” He offered her his arm; after rolling her eyes, Ahsoka took it. “Let’s go and meet Padmé.” 

  
  


Obi-Wan had no idea what he’d been summoned here for; Washington, D.C. was, as always, filled with life and fun. It wasn’t anything like it had been during the war, filled with military vehicles, with few parties and parades, even its citizens anxious and afraid. Besides New York and Los Angeles, D.C. was the city everyone wanted to visit, and nothing appeared wrong. 

“What did you say I was needed for?” Obi-Wan whispered. 

“Not now,” Ahsoka whispered back. “We can’t talk about it here.” 

That, of course, did absolutely nothing to banish his curiosity, but he supposed Ahsoka was right, after all. They continued their stroll through D.C., stopping every so often to say hello to someone on the street or to look at a particularly impressive building. Neither of them had been here for a good while. 

“We’re headed to the Senate building, correct?” Obi-Wan said. 

“Correct.” Ahsoka smiled. “She used to be a senator, after all. But don’t worry, we’re in no rush.” 

“That’s a twenty minute walk from where we are,” he said, “unless we call a taxi, and I’d rather have some fresh air. And I’m famished.” His gaze slid sideways, towards a building on the corner of the street. “How about lunch at the Salle du Bois? We  _ are  _ former military officers, after all.” 

“Former.” Ahsoka snorted. “Sure, if you’re still in denial.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan warned. “If you mention that again you will find another water canteen poured over your head.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka said, too innocently. “Let’s do lunch.” 

  
  


“Doing lunch” at the Salle du Bois took almost an hour, but it was well worth it. Between the dim lights, comfortable seating, soft music, fine wine, and of course the wonderfully exquisite food, Obi-Wan couldn’t remember enjoying him this much since...well. Since the war. 

It also helped that he had never gone to the Salle du Bois with Anakin. 

He and Ahsoka talked more, recounting war adventures; thankfully, Ahsoka never returned to what Obi-Wan had been doing--or the lack of it--since. At the same time, he managed to keep the conversation away from Anakin, simply retelling the fun times he and Ahsoka remembered, without any of the bad. 

But at some point, Padmé was bound to come up. And she did. 

“I remember one time when we were all going to get sent back from the Crimea,” Ahsoka laughed. “We were there talking to the Soviets, and--”

“Oh, I remember,” Obi-Wan said. “And Windu had received orders from the U.S. government that we were to be sent back immediately, under some pretenses that...I don’t even remember, to tell you the truth.”

Ahsoka frowned. “Wasn’t it some diplomatic situation here?”

“Something like that. Something we weren’t needed for, I don’t remember. But somehow, Padmé found out, marched straight into Windu’s office…” Obi-Wan grew bittersweet, remembering her, but continued nevertheless. “And told him, in no uncertain terms, that we were going to stay in the Crimea until our situation had resolved, because we were needed there, and had promised the Soviets for weeks we’d be there; and that if he needed anyone here, he could certainly find someone instead of sending Team Fulcrum across the world and back for the thousandth time.” 

Ahsoka smiled. “And he listened.”

“Of course he listened; I just remember how scandalized we all were to hear of it. I wish I’d been there to see it.” Poor Padmé. She had been so tenacious, the spirit of hope, and instantly, all that had vanished. What had happened to them regarding Anakin had been terrible...but it had been worst of all for her. Obi-Wan could only keep wondering how much she’d actually changed. “Speaking of Padmé--”

“Right.” Ahsoka stood up. “Who’s paying?”

“I’ll pay,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Ahsoka laughed. 

“That was a rhetorical question,” she said, “because I knew you’d have to be a gentleman about it. But I’m pretty sure I make more than you do anyway.”

It went against everything Obi-Wan had been raised to believe, but he sighed. “All right. Go ahead.” 

Ahsoka beamed and wrote out a check before prancing off toward the register. Obi-Wan made his way slowly to the door; and as he was waiting, someone caught his arm. 

He turned, surprised, to see another man standing there. The man was about an inch taller than him and had bright blond hair, blue eyes, and a pronounced jawline. 

“Well, hello there,” said Obi-Wan, feeling slightly uncomfortable, but not wanting to make assumptions. “Can I help you?”

“You wouldn’t be...Obi-Wan Kenobi,” said the man, and he had a slight Russian accent. “Would you?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, now even more on his guard. “Who is asking?”

“Vladimir Tetrov,” said the man. “I will need you to come with me.” 

“Why?” Slowly but firmly, Obi-Wan pulled his arm away. “I will not do anything unless you give me a reason.”

“Because there is a message for you,” Tetrov said. “A very important message. Forgive me, I know this must look suspicious; but I do not know what is in the message.” 

“Very well.” Obi-Wan turned toward the register, where Ahsoka had just finished. “Ahsoka?”

She turned around. Obi-Wan saw her size the two of them up, mentally figuring out what was going on, before her expression closed off. “Yes?”

“Before we leave,” he said, “this man has a message for us.” 

“No,” Tetrov said, shaking his head. “Not  _ us.  _ My orders were for you--”

“And I will not be coming,” Obi-Wan said evenly, “unless she is with me.” 

Tetrov’s blue eyes flitted sharply between the two of them. Neither Obi-Wan nor Ahsoka looked away. 

“Very well,” he said, turning toward the door. “Follow me.” 

Once Tetrov’s back was turned to them, Ahsoka gave Obi-Wan an alarmed look that seemed to say,  _ Are you insane?  _

But Obi-Wan just shook his head and put a finger to his lips. 

“Trust me,” he whispered. “I let you pay for the meal, after all.” 

Ahsoka opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and finally settled for an extremely displeased look. 

At the door, Tetrov waved them toward him. With a shrug, Obi-Wan moved forward, and Ahsoka followed. 

  
  


Once outside, Vladimir Tetrov led them down the street, past several more shops, around a corner, down another street, and finally into an alleyway behind two tall buildings. Obi-Wan was immediately unsettled; there was no one else back here, and he began to wish, just a little, that he’d brought his rifle. 

“Oh, I don’t like this,” Ahsoka muttered. 

“Here we are,” said Tetrov. “I confess, I lied to you; there is no message. I hope you are not too angry. But...” A smile lit up his face, and he whipped a pen and paper out of his pocket. “I didn’t want to say it with so many people watching, but I have admired you for so many years, Kenobi! Would you mind signing here?”

He held out the paper toward Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t been brought out here for some kind of trap, but for...an autograph?

“Certainly,” he said, taking the paper and signing his name. 

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. 

“Do not worry,  _ Gospozha, _ ” said Tetrov, taking back the paper. “And thank you! Thank you so much, Kenobi!” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Don’t mention it.” 

From behind them, there came a sharp  _ bang.  _

And then a dark red dot appeared on Tetrov’s jacket, slowly blooming into a red stain that grew to cover his entire chest. With a shuddering gasp, as if the wind had been driven out of him, he dropped to the ground. 

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka spun around. Behind them were standing about a dozen Soviet agents; he could tell by their clothes. They were altogether too warm for spring in D.C. 

“What did you do that for?” Obi-Wan demanded. 

One Soviet, the tallest, lowered his gun. “We do not want any witnesses.” 

“Oh, I can see that,” he said. “Then what are you here for?”

“You,” came the answer. 

Obi-Wan sighed. “I was afraid of that. But why?”

“Unfortunately, we cannot tell you,” said the agent. “But you have done things--great and terrible things--that do not please our Master.” 

Master? That was horribly unsettling. That was what the Germans had called their overlord during the war...but he had died. Obi-Wan had  _ watched  _ him die. This had to be someone else, a copy; but still a threat. 

“Would you mind waiting a few hours?” Obi-Wan said. “I’m on schedule to meet an old friend.” 

Behind the tall agent, six Soviets pulled guns. 

“Okay, that’s it,” snarled Ahsoka, and with a shout she leaped forward, seizing on one of the agents and delivering a series of kicks and punches that knocked him down. 

“Ahsoka, no!” Obi-Wan cried as several others seized her. She tried to fight back; with a cry, she was thrown towards the opposite wall. 

Her head smacked against the brick, and she sank down, unconscious. 

“No!” Obi-Wan might not have had a gun; but he didn’t need one. He stepped forward as the agents rushed at him, falling back into his old patterns immediately. One agent was thrown back; he ducked under another’s blow and, seizing the arm, threw that one after the other. The next aimed a gun at his leg, but he dropped immediately, rolled across the ground to scythe the agent’s legs out from under him, and came back to his feet. 

Then a sharp pain struck him in the back. 

Obi-Wan let out a cry; a moment later, everything went numb. He couldn’t feel his back or his arms, and eventually his legs gave out as well. It was an awful experience, a sudden  _ loss  _ of sensation, a loss of feeling anything at all, that was both unnerving and terrifying. 

He dropped to his knees. He didn’t feel it; he just saw it as it happened. 

The tall Russian agent who had shot Tetrov came around from behind him, carrying a peculiar device that was clearly some new kind of gun; that was what had given him this numbness. The agent smiled down at Obi-Wan for several seconds, as if enjoying seeing him like this, before gesturing for two others to come forward. 

The agents grabbed his arms. 

“A valiant effort, Kenobi,” said the leader. “But, as we expected, you are simply out of practice. You may regret that when you wake up in Kiev.” With a hand, he gestured to another agent. “Kill the Navajo woman.” 

“No!” Obi-Wan shouted. At least he could still use his voice, but he could do nothing else. 

“She will be useless to us,” sneered the leader. Clearly, he didn’t know that Ahsoka had been a code talker. “And she is also your friend; then you will have nothing.” 

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan shouted, wishing she would wake up. “Ahsoka!” 

But she didn’t stir. 

He watched in horror as the agent stepped forward, raising a gun at Ahsoka’s head. Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it; he’d seen Ahsoka for the first time in years, and on the same day she would die. 

The agent bent into a crouch, put his hands on the trigger--

And out of nowhere, someone  _ dropped  _ on top of him. 

It was a small figure, clad in black from what Obi-Wan could see; and he was by no means a Soviet sympathizer. As the agent fought, bucking and kicking out at his assailant, their rescuer seized his arm and used the momentum to get off his shoulders, slamming him onto the ground as he did so. 

The remaining five agents shouted and fired. 

Somehow, the mysterious rescuer dodged all of their bullets; it was as if by magic, but Obi-Wan could see that the figure in black was making deliberate movements to take out the agents without getting anywhere near the bullets. It was wonderful, exhilarating to watch: a leap into the air, a last-minute dive toward the ground, kicking legs out from under the agents, and eventually a beautifully executed flip over the agents’ heads. 

Only the leader was left. 

“What--” he gasped. “Who--”

He raised the same gun he’d shot Obi-Wan with, but the rescuer seemed to be expecting it. He turned and jumped in the same movement, kicking out at the agent and knocking the gun out of his hand. It clattered onto the pavement. The agent gasped and lunged for the man in black; that was a mistake. With a fleeting grin Obi-Wan could only just glimpse, the man grabbed the agent’s arms, lifted him up, and slammed him bodily onto the ground. 

And then all the agents were either dead or unconscious. 

Obi-Wan decided that he should offer his gratitude immediately or risk the same fate. Feeling was just beginning to come back to his limbs; but after all that, he doubted he could take this person on his limited strength. 

“Ah...thank you,” he said. “My friend and I were about to die. We owe you our lives.” 

The figure stood silent, his back to Obi-Wan. This was indeed a small man, Obi-Wan realized, noticing for the first time the trim figure, the slim shoulders; despite that, he was still strong. 

“No one owes anything to anyone,” he said at last--no, not he. It was a low voice that spoke, but the voice was decidedly female. “In this world, mercy is rare. I give, but I don’t expect anything in return.” There was a pause. “That said, you’re welcome.” 

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan demanded. 

Then the figure turned around, lowering her hood. Obi-Wan gasped. 

The mysterious rescuer was none other than Padmé Naberrie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *plays "Confident" by Demi Lovato*


End file.
